


This, The Night, It Belongs To Us

by GlitterDwarf



Series: Post-Episode Fluff Medicine [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel is a little obsessed with Dean's soul, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 22:11:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitterDwarf/pseuds/GlitterDwarf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel tries a more direct approach in soothing Dean's tired soul by way of a nighttime trip to the beach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This, The Night, It Belongs To Us

**Author's Note:**

> I knew writing Supernatural fic would open a flood gate. Take a happy interlude before January 16th kills all of our souls.

Dean’s soul grows heavier by the day. This is no surprise, of course, as his soul is more entrenched than any other human’s in the daily mire of evil and of the fight. And while he is more special, more equipped than any other human that has ever been before, Castiel knows all too well that even the Righteous Man has a limit.

This is why he visits Dean at night, when his elderly charges are sleeping. He has made a habit of imbuing them all with peaceful rest, which is something that he noticed they had been lacking before. Their souls would emanate a sickly yellow at night, which seemed to be a time when their bodies tired from the daily effort of living. And so, every night he walks through the halls pressing peace into their minds one by one. He knows that his brothers would find this superfluous, a waste of his angelic energy and time. There should be no time for favorites, no time to seek out the smallest of charges when there is such celestial work to be done. Still, there seems to be the smallest resonance of peace sent back into his grace, a soft hum of thanks, when he can feel stillness fall over the building. And with the healthy glow of joyful dreams, he departs nightly to seek for his Dean.

He doesn’t feel bad about cheating the rules, not anymore. While he cannot directly detect either Dean or Sam, he can still chase the trails they leave from the objects he has familiarized himself with. He knows the Impala well now, has forced this to be so. He has touched the car with his grace and has sought to memorize it, every molecule, so that he can chase this beloved piece of theirs when he needs to. It doesn’t take long for him to find it, not more than an hour each night. When he does, he is careful to cloak himself before he flies into the door and to Dean’s side.

His sleep is nearly always fitful when Castiel first arrives, mind filled with bad conflations of Purgatory and hellfire, of abandonment and torture. This is the first thing that Castiel peels away from his consciousness, as he replaces the broken images with soothing memories of happy, comfortable times with his family. Dean would not be pleased to know how intimately Castiel knows his mind and his past, of how thoroughly he has seen his dreams, but Castiel considers this omission a worthy sacrifice to the greater good.

His eyes see Dean fully, not simply with the eyes of his vessel but they seek Dean out with his true form’s vision. When he looks at the man he sees the waves of being, is able to separate out the negative energy from his true self, the parts that are golden and warm. He siphons away the sludge of remorse as he reaches through Dean’s spiritual self to its core, where he cradles, where he soothes, where he feels free to run his hands and touch in a way he never can in the awake time. The only time that he has ever come close was during cold nights in Purgatory, where Dean did not shy away from Castiel’s soothing hands.

Dean’s soul is more resistive now, though. Castiel frowns this night as he feels it in his hands, its edges less pliant, its weight increased and its sheen dulled. He can feel the guilt that is always there beginning to seek out the core, where it could begin to fester and rot Dean from the inside out.

Castiel has an urge to shake Dean awake, to speak sense into him until he can see his self truly. His anger grows immense, too immense, and he doesn’t notice until Dean’s body breaks out in a sweat and recoils from Castiel’s touch. If only Dean knew how he was slowly poisoning himself.

Dean’s eyes flutter open, and in his surprise Castiel reveals himself. Dean reaches up immediately and grabs at Castiel’s sleeves.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel whispers. His hands are at his sides again, though he remains sitting on the bed next to Dean’s body.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice is low and scratchy, his eyes barely open, and his soul pulses sweetly, quietly.

“I came to give you peace.”

Dean makes a soft noise, what would be a laugh.

“That is some real Biblical shit right there, Cas,” he murmurs.

A small thrum of guilt. Castiel huffs, exasperated, and before he can second guess his own actions he pulls Dean to sitting and presses two fingers to his forehead. A flutter, and they are on the coast, on the edge of a highway next to a sandy beach. It is night, and the beach is deserted.

“What the hell?” Dean gasps, clearly much more awake in the cold breeze. “Where are we?”

“We are in California.” Castiel pauses and looks around, lowers his consciousness to his vessel to feel the air. “From its reputation, I thought it would be warmer at night.”

“California? I say again: what the hell?!”

“I came to bring you peace, Dean. I came to bring your soul to a restful area where you could do as you please.” He looks down at the sand, much grayer than he had anticipated. “Perhaps I miscalculated, though I still think your soul could use the rest.”

He looks up in surprise as pressure encircles his wrist. His eyes meet Dean’s, which are soft, though not in fatigue. Even in his lowered consciousness, he can feel the heat flowing from Dean’s being.

"I just want to be of use to you, Dean."

A small break in Dean's soul. He itches to mend it, though he does not understand why it appeared.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m an asshole. This is nice of you. This is...this is perfect.”

Dean smiles at him for another moment, then climbs down to the beach. Castiel stays watch from atop the hill, delighting to see the tightness of Dean unravel slowly as he runs, rushes into the ocean, lays in the cool and even strips down. The sight of this, even from afar, sends hot energy throughout Castiel’s grace, directed in his vessel’s groin.

He stays watchful until Dean beckons him, and then he stays watchful but up close, holds the shells that Dean collects and puts them in his coat’s pockets, moves the waves to stay calm as Dean runs in and out to feel their gentle touch, quietly watches Dean play in the sand in the mid-night darkness.

At one point, Castiel confesses all he has been doing. Dean looks at his own hands, and his entire being buzzes happily, bubbling over. Eventually, Dean pulls him down to sit in the sand next to him, and, as his soul pulses nearly every color, bright and clear, he holds Castiel close and presses his hot mouth to Castiel’s own.

By the time he brings Dean back to his hotel room, tired and murmuring about dinner and a movie being easier next time, the soul that he has loved and protected is at relative rest. He knows that he cannot fix it, not completely. He will never be able to protect it fully, to shield it from all harm. But he will continue to be its companion, to nourish it, to soothe it, and to carry it with his own even after the light of life fades from it.


End file.
